White Blank Page
by Pinochet
Summary: "You're breaking up with me at prom?" and all that should ensue, but won't. Sometimes we need a somewhat happy ending, with a healthy splash of smut.
1. Mess

"You're breaking up with me at prom?"

The words resounded through Eli's head, over the steady beat of dance music throbbing throughout the gymnasium, and over the rapid beat of his own throbbing heart. Mixed emotions. Good opportunity? Should be responsible. Stay out of it.  
>"Clare, our parents are getting really... serious. More serious than we can ever be, despite how much you want us to do <em>everything<em> together—"  
>"Is this about the movie? You're dumping me over a <em>movie?<em>"  
>"I'm breaking up with you because this won't... work. Clare, I'm sorry, but we knew it would happen. I just don't want things to get messy."<br>Messy. Eli had seen messy before; he knew all about messy. Yet somehow Clare always seemed to be the one to bring order, to clean up all his messes and misgivings. She had kept him grounded until one day... she didn't. She couldn't.  
>"Well," Clare began, her voice trembling, changing pitch as she tried to keep it together, "I guess... I'll see you around. We can be... friends, and..."<br>Don't cry, Clare. Don't let another guy make you cry.  
>"I'm really sorry, Clare."<br>"Me too," she whispered.

The girl Eli loved, alone, immersed in a sea of bodies bobbing like lures beneath flashing lights. The girl he loved, alone, blue eyes wide with a look of loss—she had lost something; she was lost. She peered over dancing silhouettes to try to find a friend, an island. No one there. She kept glancing around, quickly looking this way and that, but there was only one person she saw who could see her. Dazedly, as if sleepwalking, she took a step towards Eli, then paused. Her eyes were glittering. She seemed utterly alone.  
>"Clare," he breathed, taking slow strides toward her. She looked up at him, tears beginning to gather in little pools in the corners of her eyes. All it would take was one quick blink and— "Don't cry, Clare. I'll... I'll take you home."<br>"No, that's fine. I'm fine. I just need... I just need..."  
>He reached out to her and put his arm around her shoulder, relishing the physical contact and the way she seemed to curl into him, her hand clutching his shirt. She was vulnerable. Shouldn't be enjoying this so much. At all. But she smelled so sweet and it felt so good to finally be the one protecting her, dealing with the disorder, instead of the aftermath of his own.<br>He led her off the dancefloor and out to the front steps of the school. The moon was high and bright and illuminated her soft, angelic face. He needed to tread lightly. Be responsible. Seriously.  
>Suddenly she turned her head to look at him, the tears on her cheek glistening in the moonlight, a beautiful sight but still heart-wrenching.<br>"Eli," she whimpered weakly. No, the beauty could not outweigh the sadness.

* * *

><p>"Why don't we call your mom, Clare," he said soothingly, rubbing her upper back as they sat together. She looked at him for a moment. He stopped.<br>"She's with Jake's dad." She swallowed back the feelings that danced along that sentence, all the complications and unease that were bound to come. The heartache. All those familiar demons.  
>Eli hesitated. Slowly he withdrew his arm from around Clare's shoulder, and she felt the warmth of his touch being leeched away by the cool night air. He stood up and turned to her with an air of mock authority.<br>"Well then, Ms. Edwards. It seems I'll have to walk you home." He held out his hand, waiting for her to take it. She did, but as soon as she was standing he let her go.  
>As they walked side by side in the darkness, thoughts were bubbling in Clare's head. She felt overwhelmed by it all, all the needs and wants she suddenly felt: the need to cry, the yearning for comfort, the longing for physical contact. The words bounced around her head as she tried to deal with her current situation, the absurdity of it. She wanted to speak, but couldn't find anything to say.<br>Neither could Eli.  
>Then, after minutes of silence, two words escaped her lips like a thread of steam from a boiling kettle. "I'm sorry."<br>"Personally, Clare, I find it's best to apologize when you've done something _wrong._"  
>"You shouldn't have to take me home. You shouldn't have to deal with my problems."<br>"Well, you've dealt enough with mine; I figured I'd return the favour."  
>She exhaled and let a little smile crawl across her face. "He was wrong though."<br>"Jake? Of course he was. I bet he already regrets breaking up with you."  
>"No, I mean when he said he didn't want things to get messy. Things are already messy." She gave him another, sadder smile.<br>He turned to her, his dark green eyes swirling with emotions she could not read; his gaze held hers for an instant, as if giving her extra time to read, to understand. She wanted to be able to _know_ him again, but she couldn't. She didn't understand anything that night. He took an unsure breath and licked his lips before speaking.  
>"Clare, you should know... Love <em>is <em>messy. It just is." And he reciprocated her sad, half-hearted smile.  
>She could read that well enough.<p> 


	2. Anchor

"It was humiliating, Alli."  
>"Which part: being dumped at prom or running to your psycho ex immediately afterward?" Jenna frowned disapprovingly at Clare. It seemed they would never be on good terms, despite Clare's efforts to act civil time and time again. Alli shot a look at her a-bit-longer-than-temporary roommate before turning back to Clare, her eyes wide with pity and remorse, a blend which made Clare grimace like a bitter cup of coffee.<br>"He's bipolar." This was something Clare had only recently learned, but once again made her heart ache.  
>"I wish I had been there, Clare. Jake was a jerk to break up with you. I know things were complicated but..." she trailed off as she noticed Dave walk by. Clare only knew the most basic of details about their relationship and subsequent falling out; ever since Jenna had moved in she had become completely irrelevant, and Alli no longer called her up late at night to talk or gave her much more than the time of day. She had no one anymore. Not even Adam, with whom she was certainly on good terms but who now had new friends, hobbies, secrets and God-knows-what-else since she and Eli broke up. Everyone had long since moved on, and she was only just beginning. Re-starting. She had to catch up, even if it was by herself.<br>"Well, we'd better go. I'm grounded again." Alli had come back to her senses as Clare was drifting away from hers, "But hey!" She gave Clare a playful punch in the arm, "Plenty of other fish in the sea, right? At least... that's what I tell myself."  
>"Bye Clare." Suddenly Jenna had a shadow of sympathy in her eyes, but evidently not for Clare, as she briskly walked past her with Alli in tow, arms linked like the best of friends.<br>"Yeah, bye... guys."

The school was nearly empty. There were only three exams scheduled for the week, and the only kids left in the building that afternoon were rushing off to some other location—_any_ other location, for as much as they loved Degrassi, they loved summer vacation more. Clare didn't. Not any more than she loved Jake—and she thought she did, until that more or less fateful night when he brought her to prom just to leave her there, stranded. There had been plenty of fish in the sea but there had been nobody she could trust, and her heart had begun to beat to the rhythm of _panic _ and a feeling that resembled a young child losing her mother in the grocery store. Until she found Eli, she'd been lost at sea. Shipwrecked. Relationship wrecked.  
>Clare chuckled despondently. She had truly become irrelevant, and the thought spun around in her mind, refusing to leave and only forcing her to become more and more aware of it. She was no longer needed by anyone. She was free to leave. She didn't want to leave.<p>

* * *

><p>He sat alone in the library, with no real reason to be there but the feeling that he ought to be; his room had become suffocating after all that time at home, and only served to remind him of what he had done wrong, and yet one small positive shone through like a single star in the dead of night: he had rescued Clare. Flawlessly. Finally. He had been the strong one, the rational one, the gentle saviour that Clare had always been for him. And he didn't mess it up... to his knowledge.<br>No, no. He couldn't ruin this feat with these little seeds of doubt. Unweeded garden. Pulled it off with aplomb. She smiled. It was okay.  
>He turned a page in his book—some Kurt Vonnegut thing he'd read before and probably owned somewhere in his many boxes of dog-eared paperbacks—and toyed with a corner. He had to learn not to over-think these things, but he always did, and always had. It didn't help that he loved her and had only<em> wished<em> that Jake loved her half as much as he did, which would be a tall order except it was Clare and it was hard _not_ to love her, which he'd learned a thousand times over. But Jake didn't love her; he couldn't even say the word a couple weeks ago when Eli was attempting to mend their relationship. For whatever reason. Maybe that was a mistake. But it seemed right. It made her happy.  
>He sighed and mindlessly skimmed through the book, glancing at whatever words popped off the page as if demanding to be seen. Their requests went ignored.<br>What was that anyway? She had said she loved him. Already? They dated for months before she could say it to Eli. Why had she found it so much easier to—Right. He knew the answer. He had been... defective. Jake was not.  
>Almost somnambulantly, he flipped back to the front of the book and again began his process of looking at words but not reading them. The library door opened and closed and he could hear the tapping of keys on the librarian's keyboard, doing librarian things and probably hating her life nearly as much as he did.<br>As he restarted the book he rethought his situation, restarted his train of thought. He had done something good. He had been strong. He had proved to himself that he was getting better. That's what he needed to focus on, not Clare or Jake or anyone else.  
>Except Clare was leaning across the table and staring at him, making herself very hard to forget for the time being.<p> 


	3. Familiar

"Hi, Eli."  
>"Hi, Clare."<br>They hadn't spoken since prom, Eli trying to keep a respectful distance and Clare too embarrassed to even look at him. But there she was, staring right into his eyes—just looking at them but not really reading them, like the book Eli had now closed and set his hands upon, fingers interlaced. His cologne wafted up to her nose and it smelled dangerously familiar, so she took a step back, but never looked away.  
>"I felt I should thank you for what you did for me at prom."<br>"Is that what you feel _now?_" He smirked. She tried desperately not to look down from his eyes. She chose to ignore the joke altogether.  
>"I know I put you in a really awkward situation, but you were really... kind. So thank you."<br>"Glad I could help, Clare." His smirk turned to a half-smile which she was glad to see was genuine, but then wished she hadn't seen at all. She hastily looked down at the table and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.  
>"Did I do something?" he asked, concern warping his sweet smile into an expression of anxiety that mirrored her own troubled air. She took a step forward and placed her hands on the table as if for stability. Gingerly she raised her head and looked him deep in the eyes, no longer to avoid the rest of his face but to really <em>see<em> him. They were so sad and green, clouded over with clashing emotion and medication. But they were his nonetheless, and the longer she held his gaze the more a familiar yet foreign feeling would wash over her, sweeping her up like the whirlpools in his eyes.  
>"Are you really bipolar?" she said quietly.<br>"I know my humour's a bit dark, Clare, but I don't think I'd joke about that." Again he smirked, but his eyes only looked sadder.  
>"I see."<br>"But I feel like I'm doing a lot better. I've spent a lot of time thinking, and I've learned a lot about myself. I'm going to get better."  
>"I'm glad. You owe yourself as much."<br>He sighed. "But I owe you a lot more. I'm so sorry, Clare. For so many things. I put you through so much and made you deal with my problems when I should have been dealing with them myself."  
>She inhaled, exhaled. What could she say? He looked at her expectantly, yet his expression told her what he expected was not absolute forgiveness, but something less pleasant. But she wasn't angry at him, she wouldn't reprimand him; she understood, or was trying to understand. She didn't want to be angry at him anymore.<br>"I guess we both need to learn to be independent," she said, carefully speaking each word as if she was placing dominoes in a line.  
>"Maybe you're right."<p>

* * *

><p>Clare's reply was more than satisfactory, though it wasn't the immediate forgiveness one might expect from someone so saintly. Which was good. She was growing up, and so was he. She had to learn to think about herself, and he had to learn to think about others.<br>He lay on his bed, headphones on and world tuned out. Imogen and he had arranged to meet at the Dot that evening, but Eli could not for the life of him motivate himself to get out of bed. Yes, friendship is good. Socializing is good. But nothing is better.  
>Replaying his conversation with Clare in his mind for the umpteenth time, he wished he had reached out and touched her. He didn't know why, but when she said the word "independent" she couldn't look at him, and her downcast eyes were so full of unmistakable sorrow that he longed to hold her. He just did. He wanted to fix everything for her, just like he should have done before. But she needed to be independent, and he needed to let her be.<br>He got up and slid his t-shirt over his head, throwing into the corner of the room. Then he opened a drawer, haphazardly picked a shirt, put it on, and walked out the door.  
>Friendship was good, and he looked forward to seeing Imogen.<p> 


	4. Wrong

Clare sat alone in the park, against a nice, shady tree, notebook resting on her lap. Her pencil was poised but she had nothing to write, despite having so much she wanted to say. Now was the perfect time to focus on her hobbies, and the warm summer breeze was so agreeable she couldn't help but feel it too agreed with her contention (she scribbled that phrase down, then out). Nevertheless, words were not happening.  
>She tried to get out of the house as much as possible—away from Jake, away from her mother, away from the tangle of problems and relationships that seemed to trip her up whenever she walked through the door. But she could never stray too far and leave her troubles behind; she knew she'd have to return home and face her mother and put on an interested face as she glowed and talked about Glen, Jake's father.<br>This whole ordeal was for the best, she kept telling herself. When she came to Degrassi she had no preoccupation with boys; she was there to learn. Yet within a short amount of time her priorities had changed and while that was a natural part of life, all she really wanted right now was stability, and the ability to stand on her own.  
>But as the weeks rolled by she found herself becoming more than a tad depressed, and today was no exception. The sunny skies could not bring out her former sunny disposition, and her plan to turn her emotions into creative fuel backfired. Not a particularly good day. She sighed and put her neglected writing materials away in her bag. Briefly she considered going home, but then laughed bitterly at herself for even thinking about it. Degrassi? Closed. Alli's? Still grounded. She had to find somewhere to go, perhaps somewhere she could meet new people. She didn't care anymore, she just wanted to have fun and <em>do <em>something.

* * *

><p>It was around midnight and Eli was home alone.<br>"Crazy and unsupervised," he muttered darkly. He was sitting in his room, as usual, staring at his computer and sipping a cup of hot black coffee. He didn't care so much about sleeping, as his goal for the night was to write a new chapter in his latest untitled work of fiction. So far he had... nothing. He'd written an outline a week ago and then wrote another; the only thing he liked was the protagonist and the eventual climactic crisis which would fall somewhere in the middle of the as of yet non-existent plot. His medication certainly hindered his creativity, but he knew he had to learn to deal with that. There were a lot of things he had to learn to deal with.  
>Cece and Bullfrog had gone out for the first time in a while, feeling that Eli had improved enough to be left alone. They both hated interfering with his life, but everyone knew it was for the best, even Eli. It was a pathetic reality that he needed people to look out for him, but he would move past that eventually. Even his therapist said he was making great improvements, pandering words that nonetheless were a well appreciated pat on the back.<br>There was a knock on the door. Eli feared it might be Imogen, whom he had once cruelly led on and used for... various purposes. But they had both moved on from that, and were now on the road to becoming good friends. He shook away the thoughts that she might be seeking something that deviated from their freshly platonic friendship; she wouldn't show up unless it was important.  
>He closed his laptop and walked to the front door, running his fingers through his hair absentmindedly as a couple of locks kept falling over his eyes. His right hand still on the back of his head, he opened the door to a girl he knew quite well—or thought he did.<br>She looked like Clare, for a split second. She smelled like Clare soon afterwards, when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. She felt like Clare. She smelt like alcohol. And... tasted like it.  
>"What are you doing?" He gently pushed her away, but her small, pale hands still grasped his t-shirt and he wasn't sure if he wanted her to let go. "You're drunk?"<br>"A little."  
>"You don't get drunk."<br>She let go of him. "I drink. I go to parties. I do whatever I want," she licked her lips, "even you_." _Her last sentence was punctuated with a giggle that was at once adorable and... wrong.  
>"You need to go home."<br>"I can't go home. Jake and his dad are probably over flirting with my mom. She loves him. She loves him sooo much that it doesn't matter if it's a package deal, y'know?"  
>Eli tried desperately to think of a solution to this but once again he was at a loss. Every time Clare stumbled back into his life he had to find a decent way to handle it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She gazed up at him with her big, blue eyes, her hair dishevelled and her blouse riding up under the strap of her purse. What a temptress. What a predicament.<br>"Clare—"  
>"I just want to kiss you," she sighed, slurring her speech, stepping toward him again and wrapping her arms around his neck. He wanted desperately to succumb to her this time, as if this was a second chance and that was what he was <em>supposed to do. <em>And as her soft lips collided with his, and she pushed him past the doorway and against the wall, he couldn't help but lose himself for a moment. He ran his hands along her sides and held her waist, and she pressed into him more with each lustful kiss. But it was... wrong.  
>"Clare, I'm sorry. We can't. I know you don't want to. You're drunk and you're upset and I want to be here for you but not like that."<br>"But why not?" Tears were welling up in her eyes, and he hated to hurt her like this. He tenderly took her hand and led her to the couch, where he made her sit while he fetched a glass of water.  
>"Drink."<br>"Drinking," she mumbled at she put her lips to the glass. He couldn't shake the feeling of _rightness_ he felt while kissing her, all the while it being so... wrong. If only she still had feelings for him. If only she wasn't drunk and hurting. This could have been everything he needed.  
>After she'd sobered up a bit and he brought her another glass of water, he spoke. "Why are you here, Clare?"<br>"I have nowhere to go, Eli. I know I shouldn't have come but I didn't have any other choice. Firstly, my mom will kill me when she finds out I was drinking, and secondly," she took another sip of water, "I just _know_ they'll be there, watching a movie like a happy family."  
>"So Jake's your stepbrother?"<br>Clare carefully put her glass down on the coffee table. "He will be in a matter of weeks, it seems, as my mother's managed to _fall in love_ faster than—than—"  
>"Faster than you and Jake?"<br>"Way to hi-jack my analogy. And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" She crossed her arms.  
>"I don't know, you just seemed to say the words pretty soon."<br>"That was prompted by you."  
>He paused. "I was... projecting."<br>Again she stared at him with her oceanic eyes, and he knew he'd said more than he intended, but he also knew she had already been aware of how he felt. She took a breath. "He didn't love me anyway. Couldn't even say it. And I was stupid enough to think he did."  
>"Maybe he wasn't in love with you, but he did care about you."<br>"All he cared about was the way I kissed."  
>"And you sure did a lot of that."<br>She glanced away uncomfortably. That was the wrong thing to say. He was finding it hard to comfort her when all he wanted was to tell her Jake was an asshole, whisk her away, and make her his again. But again, that was wrong.  
>"I'll call you a cab."<br>"Yeah, thanks."


	5. Morning

He was kissing her heart.  
>His lips trailed along her jaw, down her pale neck, and to her chest. The warmth she felt was all too familiar, making her heart ache as his lips rested there a moment, his hands tenderly holding her waist—not as if she was being held captive, but as if she were a long-lost treasure being carefully appraised by soft fingertips tracing her every curve. His face was a treasure buried in her neck, kissing and nibbling as her hand gently clutched his hair.<br>Bring your lips to mine.  
>She guided his face to hers, so she could gaze into his eyes and see the truth. But his hair was a dark curtain she couldn't see past, and even as their lips met and she was kissing him so passionately, she had to wonder if this was all a dream. It couldn't be, it couldn't be.<br>It was.

Sunlight streaming through the curtains: she used to believe this was God's way of greeting her in the morning, showing her the subdued, nebulous light beyond her window, and all that is waiting for her.  
>Now, however, it seemed like a sick joke. Things had not improved since the night Clare decided to expand her horizons and drink the night away. The next morning, her mother didn't even address the night's shenanigans, and instead sat Clare down at the kitchen table and began to discuss living arrangements. <em>Living arrangements<em>. Apparently her mum was now open to discuss decisions that would alter Clare's entire way of life and make everyday a living hell—heck. A living heck of a living arrangement.  
>But Clare could not give any useful input. She still refused to accept this recently announced engagement and she certainly wouldn't accept Glen and Jake into her family. Are they going to move in? No, they're not. They have no reason to. There will be no marriage. Please.<br>Everything was falling apart: all of Clare's relationships had now crumbled, like sandcastles warped into awkward shapes. Things were rocky with her mother, things were washed out with Alli, and things with Jake were impossible. Nonetheless, she frequently went to visit Adam in the hospital, usually running into Dave or Drew and forcing awkward small talk before finally getting some time alone with her friend. She hated to burden him with her melancholy attitude and her dependency on him, but he insisted he liked being needed. "If I can help a friend without even getting out of bed, I've got it made," he'd said with a weak smile, which over time had turned back into the sweet grin she loved.  
>She couldn't even look at Eli whenever they crossed paths in the narrow, fluorescently lit halls of the hospital; her heart couldn't handle the embarrassment and confusion. Every time their eyes accidentally met, she was confronted with a million discordant emotions that made her ears ring. Adam was disappointed that they no longer visited him together, but Clare had no choice. It was just another thing she couldn't handle, for every time she saw him she wanted to reach out and touch him, test him, find out if he was the one she'd been dreaming of.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter three. He awoke in a field of thorns.<em>

The words streamed through his fingers like an electric current. The lights were dimmed and candles were lit, some instrumental metal playing softly in the background. He was writing his latest masterpiece: a story of a boy lost in an inverted Wonderland, a place where he should be welcomed for his madness but is instead condemned to a life of slavery and oppression. His only companion is the Cheshire cat, who paints a picture for the boy despite constantly obfuscating the truth, twisting reality._ "We're all mad here," the cat's grin widened, "but not a soul would ever admit it."  
><em>Eli didn't bother to debate about art imitating life and how that reflected his own self-pity—it worked, that's all the mattered. Suddenly his emotions were doing something good for him; it was as if he had finally found a way to control them, without medication or meditation or any other strange means advised to him by his therapist. Things were better.  
>He took a break and eagerly sipped the last few drops of coffee in his skull-adorned mug. The night had passed, and Eli's creative witching hour seemed to have passed with it. 4 am. Thank goodness it was summer vacation.<br>A little Orson Welles would lull him to sleep. He started the movie, turning the volume down to one. Curled up in a ball on his bed, he relished this new-found contentment, a sleepy smile upon his face.

_Rosebud.  
><em>After one line, the movie became a hazy dream.


	6. Light

To be with the person she loved was the best feeling in the world: Clare believed this with her whole heart.

Walking through the halls of Degrassi was wonderful when her hand was holding Jake's. Everything had an ethereal glow about it, and Clare's heart felt a lot lighter than it used to. Every step was so easy; her head was no longer weighed down by thoughts of loneliness or irrelevance, and she was free to hold it high and smile at everyone and yet no one in particular. Clare belonged with Jake.  
>Clare belonged.<br>They had finally mended their relationship at the end of the summer. A lot of forgiveness was involved, but Clare knew that forgiveness was one of the most vital parts of both her religion and her own nature. And it was so easy to forgive Jake, especially when he took her in his arms and kissed her and licked her lips and then kissed her some more. At times like this she felt many things, and forgiveness was one of them.

Living together was no easy feat, but somehow they managed to keep their relationship hidden from their parents. Really, they should have suspected that something sneaky and sexually charged was afoot, but they were too enraptured by their post-marital bliss to notice anything but the recent lack of wine in the house—and even then, they didn't seem to suspect that Clare and Jake were drinking their fair share together, late at night, in Clare's bedroom. The house was so enshrouded in romance that Clare's mother and Glen were rendered conveniently blind.  
>But they had to stop holding hands at school. If too many people at school knew they were <em>involved<em>then soon their parents would know: that's just how things worked. Yet Clare often forgot about her discussions with Jake about their step-sibling façade—or perhaps she just disregarded them. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want her life to stop glowing.

* * *

><p>God, Degrassi was so dark. What happened? Were they over budget on electricity so they invested in cheaper, dimmer, crappier lights?<p>

At least this was Eli's last year, then he didn't have to worry about the gloom of high school anymore. All he had to do was keep walking, go to class, do a bit of work, go home. And despite how he felt, he wasn't alone: during his traipsing through school he was bound to encounter Adam and Imogen and Fiona, and they would help keep him on track, like lanterns guiding a path toward what Eli so fondly thought of as the End.  
>But also along that path he would encounter Clare, and her stepbrother-boyfriend Jake who inexplicably reminded Eli of a manipulative asshole—just reminded him, nothing more. Nothing more than that.<p>

Clare was alone this time as she gracefully walked through the hallway in his direction. Eli couldn't say if she noticed him, but he certainly took notice of her: her hair had grown a little bit, her face had matured ever so slightly, but her eyes still had the same clarity, they still twinkled with some indefinable essence of kindness that always brought Eli back from wherever dark place he went. As she approached her eyes suddenly met with his, and she smiled at him.  
>"Hi, Eli."<br>"That's a nice shirt, Clare. I used to have one just like it."  
>She laughed and, however much he hated this comparison, Eli was reminded of the sound of tinkling bells. How trite. But how true.<br>"What, this old thing?" She twirled in front of him as if he were a mirror in a boutique. "You caught me: it's a rather new addition to my wardrobe."  
>"Congratulations on making it to Grade 11. We were all worried."<br>She laughed again, but it didn't sound as sweet. Suddenly it was as if she wasn't even listening to him anymore, and she no longer maintained eye contact. It was just a joke; had she taken it the wrong way? "Clare?"  
>"It's so great to see you again, Eli. You look well. Blue is definitely your colour." Her smile was quite obviously insincere, and he wasn't sure how to interpret that. "Have you talked to Adam?"<br>"Yeah. He's good. He'll be back to school soon," Eli replied, mimicking Clare's false cheer. He truly was a mirror.

* * *

><p>Walking through the halls of Degrassi was not easy when her hand was not holding Jake's. She couldn't look at anybody; she didn't know anybody. All Clare could do was swiftly make her way to her next class, adopting an air of business so she wouldn't look anxious and alone. Everyone seemed fooled.<p>

Clare had to walk away from Eli. Looking at him made her heart feel like an anvil being beaten by a blacksmith. Pounding, pounding, pounding away, a blacksmith creating... something. Some molten metal form that made her feel heavy and tense. She didn't want to think about it too much.

She sent Jake a text asking to meet up with him between classes, and her heart felt much lighter.


	7. Blush

"You are so sexy."

Amidst a flurry of kissing and touching and holding and-goodness, this was embarrassing-grinding, Jake paused, let his lips linger a moment just above her collarbone, and then pulled away. Then he said the words Clare thought she would never hear, for "sexy" was not a qualifier that matched well with her, like pairing red meat with white wine. She was cute, maybe pretty, but when she looked in the mirror or picked out her clothes for the day she did not intend to look sexy and could not even fathom such an interpretation of her image or being, yet it had somehow happened. She had become quite comfortable with Jake, and physically they had gone quite far in their relationship, but this remark caused her to avert her eyes and blush. Whether Jake could discern her blush of embarrassment through her flush of excitement wasn't important: he also knew her well enough to tell what she was feeling.

"What?" he said, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. He somehow always knew exactly what to do to make her feel at ease-or, indeed, to make her feel whatever he wanted.  
>"I'm not sexy," she mumbled with a bit of a laugh. Her right hand rested shyly on her left arm, giving her place to look at instead of at his glittering, lustful eyes.<br>"Clare," he placed his hand on hers, leaning in to nibble at her ear, "you are definitely sexy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"  
>She let out a sigh as he trailed his mouth along her jaw to her neck, his hands now finding their way up her shirt to stroke her waist.<br>"Okay," she whispered. "I do have an idea." As she spoke she gently guided his head back up towards hers, gazing into his eyes a minute before leaning in to kiss him. He kissed back, passionately, his tongue moving past her lips to play with hers, his right hand now resting on the small of her back as he softly pushed her back onto the bed, his left hand still holding her waist.

"Someday I'll have to prove to you how sexy you are."

* * *

><p>Friday night, nowhere to go. Nothing to do. No one to love.<p>

If only Eli was the kind of guy to go to a party, get drunk, meet a girl and do dirty things to her to release some sexual frustration. But he wasn't, or at least he didn't want to be. He was tired of deflecting his problems onto other people who weren't in the least involved or responsible, and besides, that kind of behaviour just wasn't classy. Okay, so there was nothing wrong with hooking up with a girl at a party so long as she was cool with it and so long as hooking up just meant making out, but under the pretence of "class" Eli would excuse his pathetic inaction. He still wanted Clare and for some reason believed, in the back of his mind, that he still had a chance, despite her relationship with Jake who Eli still considered to be... less than ideal. The guy didn't even _talk_ to Clare; whenever the cat had his tongue he just borrowed hers. In the middle of the hallway! No respect for school rules.

He remembered how she used to moan into his mouth, her hands blindly feeling their way over his body as they kissed. He'd smirk at her and jokingly chide her, saying she was moving too fast for him, just to elicit an adorable reaction of embarrassment from her. But they had decided that this sort of thing was _dangerous_, and that they should take care so that Clare could stay true to her promise to remain a virgin until marriage. Yet there she was, in the same house as _that guy_, doing God-knows-what, probably naked and—oh, no. Eli couldn't even pretend to be a prude. He was jealous. Really fucking jealous.

So Clare and Eli were friends again, but not close enough for Eli to playfully ask how far she'd gone with her brother-in-law. Time and time again he tried to imagine a way to make it seem a harmlessly casual and _friendly _question—maybe a light-hearted punch in the arm or a nudge of the elbow or a humorous raise of the eyebrows. But even if Eli meticulously planned how to ask, created schematics or a detailed list of steps to take, he could never ask her this question. His curiosity was burning inside his brain but at the same time he didn't want to hear her answer, because it was possible she wasn't a virgin anymore. And, if that were the case, her blushing face would be answer enough.

He wanted to be the guy, not some asshole with whom she could never have a real relationship because—wake up, Clare—_their parents were married._ He wanted to be that one to guide her through her first time, whispering in her ear how beautiful she was, kissing every inch of her soft, porcelain skin, seeing her naked body before anyone else. He could only imagine her sighs as he slowly removed her blouse, kissing from her stomach to her clavicle before undoing her bra. She'd probably cover herself with her hands and look away shyly, biting her lip. And he would run his hands down her arms to where her hands were hiding her breasts, lean in close to her ear and breathe "May I?" awaiting the slightest, cutest nod before moving her hands away to reveal her beautiful, full breasts and perky nipples which he could only assume were a lovely peachy pink. He wanted to be the first to find out. He'd kiss his way from her ear to her chest, lightly kneading her breasts, feeling her breath get heavier and more excited as he made his way down her jaw and then her neck, then to her chest and finally, finally, all the way down to that freshly uncovered treasure. He'd nibble and suck at her nipple and gently pinch at the other, squeezing and caressing and enjoying every fucking second of it. She'd be quietly moaning, her hands clutching his head, her mind no longer concerned with shame but clouded with swirls of pleasure. His free hand would tickle its way down her waist and to her inner thigh, which he would rub through her jeans before fiddling with the button, then the fly. She'd be a bit surprised, so he'd start kissing her lips, both hands massaging her breasts, and she'd return to her state of excitement and pleasure and return his kiss, gaining more courage as their tongues further entangled, slipping her hands under his shirt to feel his chest. "Let's see how you like it," she'd whisper, pulling off his shirt—with a bit of more-than-willing assistance from him. Then he'd press his naked chest against hers, kissing her all the more passionately to show her that yes, he really _did_like it. Their bodies would be grinding against one another; he'd make her lose herself to this motion. Then he'd start to tug at her jeans, pulling them down with the rhythm of their bodies, little by little. Maybe she'd notice, and by the time they were down to her knees she'd kick them off, and his hands could finally feel the soft, milky skin of her thighs. He'd trace his fingers first from above her knee along her outer thigh, eliciting a breathy moan from his now nearly naked angel. At her hip, he would play with the waistband of her panties—which would probably have a cute polka-dot print with lace trim—and she would tense up a bit in reaction to the attention he'd be paying to the lower part of her body, his other hand now rubbing her inner thigh. At last, after tickling and caressing all of her bare skin, purposefully ignoring the one area that was beginning to beg for physical contact, Clare would pull his head away, gaze into his eyes with her own glistening baby blues, bite her lip and say, "Please." To this look, to this plea, to this blushing angel he would reply, "You... are so beautiful."

Wedging his feet into his already tied shoes, Eli tried to shake the image out of his head. Soon enough he was out the door, in search of a party, and a girl. Enough is enough.


End file.
